


My Junk

by casuallyimagining



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-24 15:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10744428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casuallyimagining/pseuds/casuallyimagining
Summary: Quinley Bracken has a run in with the Doctor after being chased by some out-of-this-world monsters. After striking up a fast friendship with the Timelord, she becomes a bonafide companion, traveling the galaxy and assisting him on his many adventures. Though they manage to escape trouble constantly, it's never far away.





	1. Angels in Paris

_Splash. Splash. Splash. Splash._

The deluge of torrential rain fell in sheets from the tar black sky, soaking the ground and turning the dirt to a brown, sludgy mud. All around, the city covered in soupy mist, the building and street barely visible in the ongoing barrage of water. Above, the sky was thick with heavy, pregnant clouds.

Quinley ducked behind a building, attempting to catch her breath. The streets were empty, a shock, even with the rain; Parisian streets were always bustling, no matter the weather, but now, they were uncharacteristically silent. She poked her head around the corner, and, seeing the street was empty as far as was visible, began to run again. Quinley's legs were aching, and she had a severe pain in her side, but she kept moving in spite of her discomfort. She had to. She wasn't running for pleasure, or even to escape the rain. No, she was running to escape, running for her life.

She turned a corner and continued down the street, running toward l'Arc de Triomphe. A few more turns and she was on l'avenue Victor-Hugo, sprinting as fast as she could at the famous landmark. As she neared the monument to Napoleon's successful ego, three figures standing in La Place Charles de Gaulle slowly came into view. The one, a woman no older than Quinley, herself, had fiery red hair that was plastered to her forehead. The ginger wore a short skirt over dark tights and high top trainers. The other two people, both men, were harder to make out from the distance, but Quinley was almost positive one of them was wearing a red fez.

When she saw Quinley approaching, the ginger tugged on the fezzed man's sleeve, drawing his attention to the running girl. The closer she got to them, the more she could see through the mist. The man was, indeed, wearing a fez on his floppy dark hair, along with a crimson bowtie around his neck, a tweed jacket, and braces. He looked like a nerdy professor, but he seemed to enjoy his clothing, and exuded confidence, straightening his bowtie as she slowed to a stop in front of him. He opened his mouth to speak, but a voice from behind him cut him off.

"Quinn?" A man pushed his way in front of the Fez. He was the same age as Quinley—in fact, he had just turned twenty-three a few months prior—and his short, brown hair, almost awkwardly lanky build, and large nose were extremely familiar. "Quinley Bracken?"

"Rory Williams," Quinley panted, attempting to catch her breath and inspecting her old friend. "What are you doing here?"

"Well… I… uh…" he stammered, running a hand through his rain soaked hair.

A loud crash behind her told Quinley she hadn't lost her pursuers. She groaned and glanced around quickly, searching for a decent way out.

"What's the matter?" the Fez questioned, watching her look around. Something in his pocket beeped, and he pulled it out. The machine looked like a television remote, only slightly larger, with a giant red light on the top. "Close. Very close. Amy, Rory-"

"Keep watch, don't blink. We know, Doctor," Amy, Rory's girlfriend, now wife, finished, turning toward the crash.

"Yes. Good." The man Amy called the Doctor turned. "Now, Quinley Bracken, how are you still here?"

"What d'you mean? I ran."

"No. No, they should have caught you by now. Why haven't they caught you? Why are you still here?"

"I…" She coughed, throat raw from the heavy breathing, and shuffled her feet, wincing as her calves protested. She would have to rest for a long time to feel any relief from running. "Back on the avenue d'Eyleau, I sort of—I don't know—tricked them. It. Whatever."

"What? How?"

"Well, they were chasing me," Quinley said, feeling her legs begin to give. She slowly lowered herself to the soaked ground, feeling the rain hitting her both from above and below, bouncing off the ground and back up onto her legs.

"How long?" She squinted up at the Doctor, confused. He knelt beside her. "How long have they been chasing you?"

"Since the Passy Cemetery, I think. Dunno. I've been running from them practically all week."

"All week?" The Doctor mumbled, clearly thinking about something. "Sorry, interrupted you there. Continue."

"They were chasing me," resumed Quinley. "And every time I would look back, they would stop. Go back to being statues of angels. Creepy, snarling angels. As if looking at them makes them unable to move." The Doctor nodded, and Quinley could practically see the cogs of his brain turning as he thought. "I passed a little boutique that had some antique mirrors in the window. When I looked back, they weren't behind me, so I stopped to breathe. Soon, they were there, in front of me."

"What did you do?" Rory called over his shoulder.

"I looked at them and I moved," she answered. "Then I turned and got out of there. When I next looked, they were still there, captured by their own reflections in the mirror."

"Brilliant!" exclaimed the Doctor, cupping her cheek in his hand. "Bloody brilliant." The machine in his hand beeped again and he immediately turned to inspect it. "But why? What do they want with her?" he mumbled to himself while tinkering with the few buttons on his remote.

"If I may ask, Fez man, what's that?" Quinley raised an eyebrow at his hand holding the now constantly beeping machine.

"Rory, Amy, they're getting closer," he called before answering her. "I'm sorry? Fez man? Fezzes are cool. And it's a Timey Wimey Detector."

"Timey Wimey?"

"Or Wibbly, if you prefer."

"Oh. The Wibbly Machine. You know, I've heard of that," said Quinley sardonically. "What is it, though? Like a proximity detector set for the statue things?"

The Doctor looked shocked. "No, not at all. It's a piece of advanced technology that-" He was interrupted by the machine's beeping. Instead of many quick blips in rapid succession, the machine now emitted one long, singular droning. "Oh, that's exactly what it is."

"Doctor!" yelled Amy. "They're here!" Both the Doctor and Quinley turned to examine where she was pointing. There, at the intersection of l'avenue Victor-Hugo and le rue de Presbourg, stood four stone figures with wings, frozen in place.

"Oh, brilliant," muttered the Doctor. "Just bloody brilliant. We need to get out of here. Especially you, since we have no idea what they want with you."

"Isn't it obvious?" Rory questioned. "Amy, I'm blinking… now."

Quinley stood. "He's right. We need to leave."

"Rory, I'm going to blink… now." Amy's eyes closed and reopened quickly.

The Doctor walked a few steps away, tapping his chin with his Timey Wimey Device. Quinley tried to follow him, but, instead of cooperating, when she tried to move, her legs decided they had had enough movement and gave out. Quinley found herself back on the ground, water still splashing up and soaking her.

The Doctor noticed her plight and ran back, immediately throwing her arm over his neck. "Come on, Ponds, Miss Smith, we need to move."

"I can't," she announced. "I'm sorry."

"Sure you can. Amy keep your eyes on the angels. Rory, if you could… wait." Rory stopped mid-step. "Go back." Rory did as he was told and faced the angels again. "You said they had been chasing you all week." Quinley nodded and he lowered her gently so that she was sitting on the ground again. He moved to her side and sat in the water. "They should have gotten you by now. Why haven't they?"

"I don't know. But, before today, they were just on the sidelines, off the streets or on top of buildings. Always watching. Today was the first they ever came close to me."

The Doctor kneaded his eye sockets with his palms. "Today. Why today? What _is_ today?"

"The eleventh of July. Three days to le quatorze juillet." The Doctor took a bronze and silver tube from his pocket and pointed it at her. Four silver prongs extended, revealing a green light at the end, which he pointed at her eyes. "Oi! Stop pointing that thing at me."

"Why today?" he repeated, staring at the tube. "Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. Impossible." He stood and began to pace. "Well, completely possible. In fact, quite probable. Despicable, deplorable, but probable. In which case…" he trailed off, looking between Amy and Rory, then finally to Quinley. "We have to move." She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "I know, but this, right here, we're being trapped. Amy," the Doctor called to the ginger. "Are any of the angels' mouths open?"

"Yeah," came the reply. "Two."

"Then it's begun. We need to get out of here and quickly. We need to get to La Place de la Porte Maillot. Quickly. Come on!" He grabbed Quinley's hands and pulled her to her feet; he dropped one, but kept her right securely grasped in his own, helping her to keep her balance. "Amy, Rory!" called the Doctor, spinning around, preparing to run. "Let's… oh my." There, on the edge of the mist, stood four more angels in the shadow of L'arc de Triomphe. "Keep looking at them," he instructed fiercely. "Don't blink. Don't turn your head. Don't get distracted. And whatever you do, don't look them in the eye. Fascinating race, the Weeping Angels." The Doctor squeezed her hand. "Only race to kill you gently."

"Somehow, I don't see how 'killing' and 'gently' can go in a sentence together."

"They send you back in time about—oh, I don't know—a hundred years or so, and let you live the rest of your life in the past. Then they feed on the energy of your life's potential greatness."

From above, a crack of thunder shook the ground. The sky flashed with lightning. The heavens opened up, and the rain fell harder. It hit the top of Quinley's head with a noticeable and almost painful 'plop'. She couldn't help thinking about the appropriateness of the weather—she was going to die, or as the Doctor put it, disappear, and the sky was enraged. Rain rolled down her face and into her eyes, but she didn't dare wipe it away. She was too terrified. She had to keep looking at the angels. Her life depended on it.

"What do they want?" questioned Quinley. "Why me? Why do they want me?"

"Because you're brilliant." The Doctor still had not let go of her hand, and she was grateful. She didn't trust herself to stand alone. Quinley was shaking, and she couldn't tell whether it was from overexertion, the cold of the rain, or the terror that gripped her and refused to let go. "And because I'm brilliant. They feed on temporal shifts, changes in a person's time stream that create great amounts of temporal energy. They've chased you all week to here, to this very spot. They've chased you to me."

Quinley thought the man sounded absolutely ridiculous, not to mention completely egotistical. Behind her, Amy and Rory were continuing their audible blinking system, reminding Quinley that she hadn't blinked in several minutes. She winked her eyes alternately, keeping one eye on the angels at all times. Finally, she spoke. "That sounds bloody ridiculous."

"Yet you're still listening."

Quinley ignored him. "But why chase me to you?"

"Because they wanted to trap you here. They wanted to see how I reacted to you. They're trapping you to create a paradox. They want to alter not only your time stream, but mine as well."

"But you said they take you back hundreds of years. You're barely thirty, let alone two hundred."

It was the Doctor's turn to ignore her. "I don't think they want to take you back a hundred years. They want to take you back six years. To 2005. They want to alter the past six years of my life, and everything that's happened or is happening, or will happen since."

"But, how?"

"If they make it so that you get to my past self before a certain woman does, they can change the life of nine people at least. That's enough temporal energy to feed an angel army, and it's not even including the energy they would get off the events that may not even happen, or would end differently." He looked at her, capturing her sapphire eyes in his own blue-green ones. "They would be able to survive forever, just from the energy created by one simple event."

"Oh."

"Oh is right."

"No. Doctor, who's looking at the angels?"

His eyes widened. "Oh." They both turned sharply. Standing less than a foot from them with outstretched arms were the four angels. The Doctor backed up a few steps, dragging Quinley along with him. "We really need to get out of this area. They aren't going to leave you alone unless you're out of this city. And even then…"

"They may never leave me alone," Quinley finished.

"Quite possibly. Wherever you go, wherever you are, you may see one of them, waiting for you. Most cases, they'll leave you alone, but, if you ever come to Paris again…"

"They'll be narked and attack?" He nodded. "Of course." Quinley sighed. "Watch them for a mo' would you?" The Doctor remained silent. Still clutching his hand, Quinley looked around at the city she loved so much. "Au revoir, Paris. Vous me manquerez. C'était amusant, mais maintenant je dois partir. Ne soyez pas triste. Vous ne devez pas pleurer. Sachez que je vous aime, que je vous ai toujours aimé, et que je vous aimerai toujours, quoi qu'il arrive. Soyez bonne. Soyez contente. Vous me manquerez." She mumbled her goodbye, feeling a little silly saying goodbye to a city, but she felt her eyes watering when she remembered what Paris meant to her, and she knew it wasn't from the torrent. She whispered to the Doctor. "Let's go."

He nodded and, still looking at the angels, led her around them. "Amy, Rory, keep looking at them, but move. We're leaving."

Quinley watched as they synced blinking one last time before stepping away, walking backwards toward the sound of the Doctor's voice. They were soaked to the bone, and Quinley could only imagine she was in a similar disarray: Clothes stuck to their skin, hanging in heavy folds, hair plastered to their heads. Amy's make-up was running, and Quinley was glad she hardly wore any.

As soon as Amy and Rory were a safe distance away, the Doctor pulled Quinley along, quickly breaking into a run. He led the three down l'Avenue de la Grand Armée toward La Place de la Porte Maillot. Quinley felt her legs protesting—tomorrow she would surely be unable to move at all—but she ran on, both because she was terrified of the angels and because the Doctor still had a firm grip on her hand. They soon passed the Rue d'Argentine, and Quinley counted off in her head: Three more intersections and they would be at La Place de la Porte Maillot, and the safety that the Doctor claimed was there.

Ahead, Quinley could make out five pale, statuesque figures standing in the mist at the edge of the rain. "Down here." She dragged the Doctor down the Rue Villaret de Joyeuse, ducking into the space between two apartment buildings. Amy and Rory followed, and soon, they were off again, sprinting between buildings. She led them toward the Rue Denis Poisson, but when they reached the open road, she turned north, ignoring the Doctor's protests of getting back to La Rue de la Grand Armée. Instead, she began a labyrinth of twists and turns through the buildings between the Rue Saint-Ferdinand and the Rue Débarcadère.

She slowed to a stop and, finally dropping the Doctor's hand, peeked her head around a building, looking to the Rue de la Grand Armée for any signs of the pursuing angels. "We're close," she announced. "And it looks like they aren't there yet."

"Let's hope it stays that way," added Amy, who was leaning against a brick wall.

The Doctor joined Quinley at the corner. "If we can just make it to there," he pointed toward a blue police box. "We'll be safe."

"Why? What's there?"

He ignored her. "Come on, Ponds." He grabbed Quinley's hand again. "Just a bit more." He took off, Quinley trailing behind him, Amy and Rory behind her, all running for the bright blue box.

Quickly, they got there, and, once again, Quinley's hand was dropped as the Doctor worked to unlock the box. While he patted down his pockets, looking for the key, Quinley inspected the box. Amy and Rory were facing opposite directions, on the watch for the moving statues. The box was wooden, with paneled windows on each face. At the top, repeated all the way around were the words 'POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX,' lit up for all to see.

From above, Quinley heard the noise of wings. Ignoring it, thinking it was birds coming back out in the wavering rain, Quinley continued to circle the box. She came to the plane the Doctor was facing, still fishing for his keys. "So, what? We're just going to wait it out in here?" The Doctor nodded, looking up. His eyes went wide. "What?" He waved frantically for her to come to him. Confused, she obeyed. "What's the matter?" Then, she noticed it. An angel, standing exactly where she had just been, its arms outstretched, ready to grab her. Had the Doctor not looked when he did, she would have disappeared.

Suddenly, Quinley collapsed in the Doctor's arms. Whether from stress, fatigue, or shock, she was unsure, but she felt lightheaded and nauseated. In a moment of epiphany, the Doctor snapped his fingers, and the doors of the box opened. He draped her legs over his arms and picked Quinley up, carrying her into the box. Amy and Rory were suddenly there with them. The Doctor snapped again and the doors shut.


	2. Angels in Paris pt 2

The Doctor helped her ease into a plush captain's chair, and, when he was sure she wouldn't fall over, pulled out his bronze and silver tube, using it to scan her again.

"Doctor," began Rory tentatively. "If you don't mind, I think maybe I should look at her. You know, nurse?"

"Oh. Right." The Doctor backed away and Rory took his place, feeling her forehead and shining a torch in her eyes.

"You've done quite a bit of running," Rory observed. "I think she's just exhausted. Get some sleep, Quinn." He smiled gently and patted her cheek, going back over to Amy. "We're going to bed, I think, Doctor. See you in the morning."

The Doctor waved, messing with a few buttons on a panel in the center of the room. Quinley blinked, attempting to clear her spinning head. She had entered a box a few minutes ago. Now, here she was, in a giant console room. Cautiously, she turned her head. The room was huge. Three stairwells led from the main room off into different parts of the box. The entire room was bathed in an amber light, which seemed to originate in the circular holes in the metal walls. The floor below was glass, and metal support beams turned it into a web beneath her.

"Go ahead. You can say it," remarked the Doctor, who was smiling. "Everyone does, and I can assure you, I've heard them all."

"We're not in a box," Quinley responded. "There's no way this is a box."

The Doctor's face fell. "That is, admittedly, new."

"And, if we aren't in a box," she continued. "Where are we?"

"The TARDIS!" he announced happily. "Bigger on the inside, queen of the Wibbly Wobbly and Timey Wimey." The main console hummed warmly. "She welcomes you." Quinley smiled, unsure of what to say, and shifted in the chair. She winced, muscles aching from running. "Hm." The Doctor listened as the TARDIS hummed again. "Yes, I think it's possible…" Then, as if remembering she were in the room, he bounded over to her. "Would you like to go sit in the Turkish bath?"

"You have a Turkish bath in this thing?"

"She has a lot of rooms," he responded. "Would you like to go? It may help your legs."

After a second of consideration, Quinley nodded. "Hot water sounds lovely right now."

________________________________________

Quinley eased herself into the frothing waters of the Jacuzzi, feeling her legs practically sigh in relief. The Doctor had showed her to the wardrobe, where she had borrowed a swimsuit, and then to the swimming pool, which housed the Turkish bath, as well. The walk through the TARDIS would have been long, but the Doctor knew his way around well, despite his claim that the rooms all moved around once in a while.

The Doctor had excused himself in search of towels, but, as that had been fifteen minutes ago, Quinley grew worried that he would never return. Finally, though, he reentered, two fluffy blue towels in his arms. He wore a pair of dark blue and brown plaid shorts in place of his black pressed trousers. "Care if I join you?" he questioned, sitting the towels on one of the teak chaises.

"Be my guest." Quinley drew circles in the froth as the Doctor unbuttoned his blue, seemingly woolen shirt. She glanced up when the water moved, and couldn't help but notice his slightly defined muscles. She turned away, however, until he was fully submerged, both allowing him privacy and not wanting to stare.

"Rory says you went to university together," the Doctor opened, touching a panel on the edge of the water and turning the jets up higher.

"Only for two years. We had a few general classes together, and we did a few of the same extracurriculars. Third year, though, I transferred to Warwick and he stayed at Gloucestershire. Didn't really see him much after that."

"And Amy?"

She shrugged sheepishly. "I knew she was there, but she wasn't there at college. Today was the first I met her."

Sensing the awkward turn the conversation had taken, the Doctor changed the subject. "Why were you in Paris?"

"It's a long story."

"We have time." He grinned. "Trust me, we have all the time in the world."

"Well, back in primary school, someone decided it would be a good idea for us to have pen pals; one would be in the language we studied—French for me—the other, English. Both of mine were great. My English one was my age. Sweet girl. Rose, her name was. She and I kept in contact, but in 2005, her letters just stopped. Rumour is, she died a few years ago." The Doctor's eyes were wide, but he said nothing. "My other correspondent, the French one, was also nice. We've taken turns visiting each other every once in a while, and I always come to Paris for le quatorze juillet." Quinley sighed. "I guess I'll miss it this year." The Doctor sat in silence, his brow furrowed in thought. "What's that look for?"

"What 'look'?" he questioned absently, clearly still lost in his thoughts.

"The 'thinking of a plan' look."

"I do not have a 'thinking of a plan' look."

"Yes, you do. And you're doing it right now."

"Well, it could be because I just thought of a plan."

"A plan?" She smiled. "It is the 'thinking of a plan' look." He sent her a look that said 'I'm about to say something brilliant that you're going to love, but if you don't shut up, I'm not going to tell you'. Immediately, she quieted.

"Currently, we're on a course to drop Amy and Rory back in London. If you want, we can come back to Paris and apologize to your friend, and you can spend the holiday here."

Quinley looked confused. "But, I thought you said I could never go back to Paris."

"I did. I changed my mind." He grinned. "Plus, you'd be accompanied by me, so you'd be safe." Quinley heard him mutter under his breath. "Relatively."

For a long while, the only sound was the gurgling and plopping of the jets creating the constant foamy water. When at last Quinley spoke again, her question caught the Doctor off guard. "Who are you, Doctor?"

"I'm the Doctor."

She dissected the word. "Doctor. Healer. Mender. Teacher." He nodded. "Doctor is a title, not a name."

He sighed and repeated, "I'm the Doctor."

Unsatisfied, Quinley tried a different approach. "Currently, to me, you are a madman in a box. What else are you, Doctor? Why do you have a bigger-on-the-inside TARDIS? What are you?"

This time, he smiled deviously. "If there's one thing you need to know about me, it's that I am definitely a madman in a box. As for what I am... you wouldn't believe me."

"You aren't human," she guessed.

"No." Even though she had known it to be true, Quinley was still surprised.

"You're the Doctor. And you're not human."

"Correct."

"So, if you're not human, what are you?"

The Doctor remained silent, running his hand across the surface of the water. His message was clear: That was quite enough question/answer for the day.

________________________________________

Quinley sat at a small circular table across from the Doctor at Le Sancerre, nursing an espresso and pain du chocolat. They were free for the day, as Quinley's Parisian pen pal, Alice, worked at a small law firm in the south of the city. She half listened as the Doctor rambled on about his plans for the day. They had been in the city for less than a day, and the Doctor had big ideas about how he wanted to spend his three days in the city of lights.

"…the Eiffel Tower—or tour Eiffel, if you prefer. Then, I thought we could go to the Louvre. Love the Louvre. Alice should be off work by then, you can text her and tell her to meet us there." Quinley tuned him out, paying more attention to the transvestite and his boyfriend at the table across from them. They weren't saying anything, but based on the way they looked at each other, she could tell they were in love.

That was one of the things she loved about Paris. No matter who you were, how you dressed, or even what you looked like, you could come to Paris with the person you cared most about, and immediately be accepted. Parisians didn't care. As long as you didn't interfere with their daily lives or their culture, you were fine with them.

"…could come see the lights of the city. They're brilliant, you know. Love the lights."

A serveuse drew Quinley out of her thoughts. "Excusez-moi, mademoiselle. Would you and your husband care for a refill?"

"Oui, merci," Quinley responded, not catching her comment about her marital status.

As she was filling the glasses, the Doctor whispered. "We aren't together."

"J'suis désolée, monsieur," the serveuse apologized.

As soon as she walked away, the Doctor resumed his rambling. "Tomorrow, then, we can-"

"Doctor," Quinley interrupted. "Let's just take it a day at a time, yeah?" He nodded. "Good."

"What's wrong?" he questioned, brow furrowing.

"What? Nothing's wrong."

"Something's wrong."

"What makes you say that?"

"You haven't been paying attention. And that just isn't like you."

"You hardly know me." Quinley crossed her arms and sat back in her chair.

"No, but I do know you're observant. If you weren't, you wouldn't have figured out how to escape the angels."

Quinley remained silent, staring at her reflection in the murky surface of her espresso. Finally, she answered, not looking at him. "I don't trust easily, Doctor."

"I would expect not."

"But, for some reason, I trust you." She sipped her espresso casually. "Don't make me regret it." Suddenly, she leaned over and grabbed his wrist, turning it so that she could see the face of his watch. Nearly nine thirty. "Well, come on, then. L'Arc de Triomphe, yeah?"

Surprised, the Doctor nodded. "Yeah. Proper viewing this time. No running away from it. Straight to the top. You have to see the view. Love the view." Quinley chuckled at his enthusiasm. She didn't have the heart to tell him she had been to the top many times before.

They hopped on the blue line and twenty minutes later, Quinley and the Doctor were standing at the top of l'Arc de Triomphe, the city spread out below them. Quinley couldn't help conjuring up an image of a child and their block village while staring out across the city, the wind gently breathing across her hair. Since they boarded the metro, the Doctor hadn't let her out of arm's reach, and even standing at the top of the arch, her arm was laced through his.

"It's covered in statues!" Was his argument. "You never know what is an angel and what isn't until you're standing in the past."

So, there they stood, at the top of l'Arc de Triomphe, in the most romantic city on Earth, arm in arm, looking down at the streets of Paris. The Doctor insisted upon taking a few pictures of them with the Eiffel Tower stretching into the sky behind them on Quinley's phone. Quinley found herself having fun in spite of the fact she had been to the top of the arch four times previously, and mentally noted that the Doctor's unbridled enthusiasm and childlike wonder could make almost any situation an enjoyable one. Quinley was almost glad the Doctor had insisted on climbing the stairs to the top. The view was absolutely magnificent. Below, the twelve streets radiated from the arch. People and cars looked like ants marching to food. Buildings seemed small and insignificant. From the arch, it was possible to see almost all of Paris.

Finally, they descended back to the ground and got on the green line. In a little over a half hour, they were standing at the top of the most iconic structure in Paris: La tour Eiffel. They had taken the elevator to the very top viewing platform, where they now stood, completely overlooking the now dwarfed city. The Doctor had insisted on buying glasses of champagne at the bar, and, even though he seemed to hate the taste, he sipped his bubbly drink slowly, relishing being on top of Paris's most magnificent monument.

Quinley had gotten used to being attached to his arm, and somewhat even enjoyed it. She enjoyed listening to him talk, pointing out random facts.  
"If you were to fly straight that way," he had said at one point, motioning straight ahead. "You would smack right into the two on Big Ben's south most face."

"Over there," he pointed in a different direction. "The Paris Opera. I saw La Carlotta there once. Lovely show. Love the Opera."

Another time, he pointed to the sky and whispered in her ear. "If you were to get in a spaceship and fly for, oh I don't know, about 250 million light-years, you'd crash land in the domed citadel of my home planet."

"Which is?"

"Gallifrey." He rushed to the railing, then, and pointed out all the landmarks of the city in alphabetical order. Clearly, he was uncomfortable talking about his home—the mysterious Gallifrey.


	3. Angels in Paris pt 3

It was almost five when Quinley and the Doctor exited the Louvre. Outside, people mulled about the paved courtyard, gawking in wonder at the giant glass pyramid and taking pictures in front of the antique palace. Quinley and the Doctor sat on the edge of the fountain, where he insisted upon taking another picture.

Then, a blonde stood in front of them, staring at the two. "Quinley," she greeted, French accent muddling her speech.

"Salut, Alice!" Quinley greeted, kissing her friend on the cheek. "How was work?"

Alice rolled her eyes, ignoring the question. "Who is your handsome friend?"

Quinley glanced nervously at the Doctor. "Alice this is-"

"Hello, I'm John."

"John," Alice greeted pleasantly.

"John?" Quinley stared at the man incredulously.

"Are you enjoying the city so far?" Alice asked the Doctor, who nodded excitedly. "Bon. Have you seen la tour Eiffel yet?" Again, the Doctor nodded. "You got nice pictures?" Quinley was sure his head was going to pop off from so much nodding. "Mais, you have not seen it at night?"

"It's our first day here," responded the Doctor.

"Bon. We shall see it tonight." Alice turned to Quinley, lacing their arms. "What kept you so long this year, mon amie? You're usually here days in advanced. Le quatorze juillet is tomorrow."

"Désolée. John and I had a few… things to do before we came."

"Bien sûr." Alice patted her arm. "You are staying with me, non?" Quinley smiled. "Bon. Although, I only have one guest room. You will just have to share."

"Alice, that was wonderful," commented Quinley, helping her friend to clear the dining room table after dinner. The French woman had made French onion soup and quiche Lorraine, Quinley's favorite French meal, for them.

"Merci, mon amie," Alice replied, stacking the dishes in her dish washer. "I believe John enjoyed it, as well."

"I'd say," Quinley glanced at the man sitting on the floor of the salon, attempting to play with Alice's cat.

Noticing her friend's look, Alice smiled. "Go to him, mon amie. I'll be out toute de suite."

Nodding, Quinley left the kitchen and walked into the salon, sliding onto the floor beside the Doctor. He had removed his tweed jacket and now sat in his black pressed trousers, woolen red shirt, bowtie, and braces. His hair was ruffled slightly from running his hand through it, and his brow was furrowed.

"I think the cat is broken," he announced, dangling the string he was toying with in front of the cat's nose. "It's refusing to play. I've never seen a cat that can resist string, and I've met a whole race of them."

Quinley rolled her eyes and reached under the couch, grabbing the green jingle ball that almost constantly resided there. Immediately, the cat perked up, black fuzzy ears pointing in Quinley's direction, bright yellow eyes fixated on the ball in her hand. "D'you want the ball, Chester?" Chester wagged his tail and Quinley rolled the ball toward him. He pounced, rolling across the salon's wooden floor in pursuit of the jingling ball.

A few hours later, Quinley led the Doctor up the stairs of Alice's apartment to the guest bedroom. "She only has one," she explained. "But I have no problem sleeping on the floor."

"What? No!" The Doctor protested, following her into the room.

The walls were a powder blue colour, and were adorned with pictures of the world's most famous landmarks. Pictures of the Pyramids of Giza hung beside photographs of London's House of Parliament and New York's Empire State Building. The Taj Mahal was surrounded by Niagara Falls and the LaBrea Tar Pits. On the two side tables stood pictures of the Grand Canal in Venice, Stonehenge, the Aurora Borealis, and the Leaning Tower of Pisa. The bed itself was rather large, with an ornately decorated headboard and blue cased plush pillows.

"No," the Doctor repeated. "We're adults." He sat on the bed and patted the plush surface. "We share."

"You're positive?" He nodded. "Fine."

That night, Quinley couldn't sleep. She was confined to a small area of the bed without blankets. The Doctor had stolen them all within the first fifteen minutes of his slumber, and after that, he had slowly encroached upon her territory. Finally, she decided she had had enough and, grabbing her pillow, rolled onto the floor.

"Move closer together," instructed Alice. "I will take your picture." Quinley and the Doctor did as they were told. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into his side. Behind them, the Eiffel Tower was alight, all golden and glowing against a nearly black sky. The celebration for le quatorze juillet would be starting very soon. Every year on 14 July, the city of Paris put off the most spectacular fireworks display in celebration of France's independence from the crown. They would blare La Marseillaise from every sound system in a seventeen block radius, and everyone in the city seemed to sing together the song of their freedom.

In the distance, the bells of Notre Dame de Paris chimed ten. The final chime lingered in the air before the lights of the Eiffel Tower and the surrounding area suddenly went off. When the tower came back on again, it was lit in red and blue, a shower of white sparks behind it on the pond. The French Tricolour in all its glory. The trumpeted introduction of the national anthem began and the pyrotechnics went off to the crash of the cymbals. Then, the entire city was filled with the pre-recorded voices of the National Choir and the first verse of La Marseillaise.

The trumpets blared off again, the fireworks not stopping. The National Choir sang two more verses before the explosions reached a feverish beat. With one last trumpet cadence, the whole of Paris erupted in patriotism and song. The first verse repeated, and, in that moment, everyone in Paris, everyone in France, was connected in singing the simplistic tune.

_Allons, enfants de la Patrie, le jour de gloire est arrivé !_  
Contre-nous de la tyrannie, l'étendard sanglant est levé !  
Entendez-vous dans nos campagnes, mugir ces féroces soldats ?  
Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras.  
Egorger vos fils, vos compagnes !

_Aux armes, citoyens !_  
Formez vos bataillons !  
Marchez, marchez, qu'un sang impur.  
Abreuve vos sillons !

_Aux armes, citoyens !_  
Formez vos bataillons !  
Marchons, marchons, qu'un sang impur.  
Abreuve nos sillons !

Even though she wasn't French, not even remotely, Quinley joined in the singing. She loved the country; she loved Paris. Why shouldn't she express that? Beside her, still with an arm wrapped around her waist, she could hear the Doctor humming the tune.

With one final flourish of the trumpets and a final, deafening 'BANG!' the celebration was over. The lights on the tower went out before resuming their usual golden glow. The next day, all of France would go back to its normal, mostly apathetic, self. The crowd began to disperse, but Quinley, Alice, and the Doctor stayed where they were.

"That was better than last year, non?" Alice questioned Quinley.

She agreed. "I never thought I'd see the day. I didn't think they could top last year's."

"Alice!" A man across the crowd waved.

"I will meet you back at my home," said Alice, starting to drift towards the waving man. "Take your time."

The Doctor and Quinley moved slowly with the crowd, meandering forward into the night and the brightly lighted streets of Paris. When it was open enough, they moved apart, the Doctor's hand unconsciously dropping to intertwine with Quinley's own. They continued on in silence for a few blocks, until she finally spoke.

"There's been something I've been meaning to ask you for the past two days, but I haven't been able to find the time."

"And what would that be?"

"All this time, we've been talking, and you've spoken to Alice, you even gave some bloke directions in the metro!" At the memory, the Doctor chuckled. "I've been speaking French the entire time. So has Alice. And the rest of the city. You respond in French."

"Of course I respond in French. What would I respond in? Judoon? Silurian? Sltharro?" He thought better of his words. "Don't answer that."

"You speak French, though?"

"I speak every language, including baby."

"I see."

"You believe me? You don't find that strange?"

Quinley shook her head. "Not at all. In fact, I find it interesting. Is it because you're alien? From—what was it?—Galifrey?"

"Sort of." The Doctor swung their hands back and forth gently, beginning to subconsciously rub circles into the back of her hand with his thumb. "It's because of the TARDIS. You can, as well, I suppose. Once you've been inside her, she links up with your inner consciousness, and Bob's your uncle, you can speak every language in the universe. Including baby."

Suddenly, a cold had gripped Quinley's right shoulder and she froze. She turned to the Doctor, finding him in a similar state. Then, the world around her went black and she collapsed, her hand still clasping the Doctor's.

When Quinley awoke, she was laying on her back. Her head ached terribly, but other than that she was fine. She managed to sit up, her head in her hands, and look around. She was in a large paved yet wooded area. The same paved yet wooded area she had been in when she had fallen unconscious. Her eyes shot open and she turned her head frantically scanning around in the morning light. Her eyes finally fell to rest on what she was looking for.

The Doctor lay beside her, his tweed jacket splayed out around him, bowtie askew, hair mussed from the fall. He looked fine. She moved so that she was sitting on her knees beside him and patted his cheek. "Doctor," she whispered. "Doctor, wake up." His head lolled to the side, but he did not wake. "Doctor!" Still nothing. It was clear words were not going to work, so she resorted to more drastic means of waking the man.

She leaned over him and, ever so gently, pressed her lips to his own. After a few seconds, his eyes shot open and she pulled back, her mission successful. His cheeks tinted pink, he cautiously wiped his mouth with his sleeve as he took in their surroundings.

"We're still in Paris?" he questioned.

Quinley turned around. The Eiffel Tower stood just behind them. "I'd say, yeah."

"Good. Now, the question is,  _when_  are we?" He stood and began to walk away. Quinley had no choice but to follow him.

"What do you mean _when_  are we?"

"We were attacked by the Weeping Angels," mumbled the Doctor, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "They've sent us back in time." He indicated a newspaper in one of the store fronts. "10 August  _1974._ "

"Oh, wonderful," Quinley mumbled, glancing at the headline of the paper. "Bloody wonderful." She looked down at her clothes. Her jeans clung to her legs, her black converse were dirty, and her shirt, a green and black plaid button up. They were definitely not time-period appropriate, but she was glad they weren't transported back any farther in time. "How are we going to get back?" she questioned the Doctor, following him as he continued to walk. He remained silent. "Doctor, how are we going to get back to 2011?" When, again, he was silent, she grabbed his wrist, spinning him around. "We  _are_  getting back, aren't we?"

"Yes," he began. "But, I need to think of a plan. We know no one here, and it'll be almost impossible to find people that came the same way we did. Oh, I am a stupid, stupid Time Lord." He dug through the pockets of his tweed jacket and removed his bronze and silver tube and his Timey Wimey Detector. "We  _can_."

"Time Lord?" Quinley fixated on the words. "Is that what you are? A Time Lord?" The Doctor nodded, flicking a switch on his Timey Wimey Detector to turn it on. "Are there more Time Lords? Other crazy men who travel in blue police boxes?"

"No," answered the Doctor simply, using his bronze and silver tube on the Timey Wimey Detector.

"What  _is_  that thing?"

"Sonic screwdriver. Aha!" The Timey Wimey Detector began to beep softly and slowly. "Good. Let's go."

Quinley followed the Doctor across the city, the beeping of the Timey Wimey Detector gradually getting louder and quicker as they got closer to their target. At last, near the Moulin Rouge in Montmartre, the drone of the machine became solid. They were close. The Doctor pointed it at each person on the street. It lit up at a man sitting on a bench, staring at a newspaper. Cautiously, the two approached.

"Excusez-moi, Monsieur," the Doctor began, sitting beside the man. "May we talk to you?"

The man looked up. He was bedraggled and it was clear he had gotten little sleep; the bags under his eyes seemed to go on forever. "Yes?" Then he noticed Quinley. He stared at her jeans. "Madame, you are not from around here, are you?"

"No, I'd say not." She nodded at his green and pink polo shirt. "But, then again, neither are you."

"No, Madame, I'm not," he acquiesced. "I don't know how I got here."

As the Doctor explained what to do to the man, who had introduced himself as Steven, Quinley borrowed a pen, paper and an envelope from one of the street vendors. The Doctor had instructed her to write a note to Alice, explaining where to find the TARDIS and to look for another message from them before going to the blue box. The Doctor then told Steven how to find Alice.

"You can't forget to do this, Steven," the Doctor repeated for the third time. "Remember Alice Debourg. What day?"

"15 July, 2011."

"Good." He licked the envelope to seal it and handed it to Steven. "Here. Remember: in thirty-seven years, you need to deliver this."

"What if I die before then?" asked Steven, licking his lips nervously.

"Then you have your son to deliver it. It is of great importance that this letter gets to Alice Debourg. Do you understand?" Steven nodded. "Good." The Doctor grabbed Quinley's hand. "Goodbye, Steven."

Quinley followed the Doctor for a few blocks before pulling him back. "Okay, care to fill me in on what the hell we're going to do?"

"Believe it or not," he began angrily. "I've done this before. There are some things I need to do. What I need you to do is compile a list of Alice's five favorite movies."

"She's only seen two. And they're from 2009."

"Her five favorite records, then. I'll have to get creative this time."

"What?"

"Nothing. Go find the records." Quinley stared at him for a moment, sapphire eyes scanning his face. "What?"

"Nothing. Five favorite records. Got it."

She began to walk away, but the Doctor called her back. "No, you're staying with me. This is something we need to do together."


End file.
